


i am living among a group of smoldering children.

by oprovau



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Crime Solving, F/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oprovau/pseuds/oprovau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelica Harmon did not know what she expected when she moved into the home of her deceased cousin. Maybe cold spots and spooky feelings, but not cruel neighbors and definitely not apparitions of the former homeowners. Now, Angelica is investigating the mysterious happenings over the Murder House's lifespan. She can not help but note that it is rare for owners to live to tell the tale of their stay there. As an author and private investigator for a podcast on events of murder and supernatural connections, it is going to be her job to spread the word before she, too, ends up as one of the ghosts of Los Angeles' infamous Murder House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly posted on Quotev under the same title & username. Edited. If you know the events of Murder House, you know the triggers revolving the Harmon family-- please use caution.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Angelica Harmon

 

* * *

   
Angelica took a deep breath; she was doing that a lot lately. Taking deeper breaths, making harder decisions... after the death of her relatives, adulthood had punched the young woman square in the jaw. Though fresh out of college with a steady job, Angelica Harmon had been living with her parents since the news broke. Just over a year after the mysterious deaths in that mysterious house, Angelica made the biggest decision of her life.  
  
She was going to investigate the Murder House.  
  
Now, due to the extremely dark history of the mansion, it was always difficult for the realtors to find a buyer--- no one had ever  _willingly_ gone to explore it. And as an ode to her former family, she bought the infamous house to insure that this would be the most thorough of investigations.  
  
Angelica's day-to-day job was as a reporter and an author for  **Killer Investigation** , a podcast on which the woman would look into murders and horrific crimes and find the connections between them. Often labeled as either an aid or a nuisance to the police departments, she had begun to lie low just before the deaths, considering a change in career. When the Harmon family's tragic demise was brought to light, Angelica knew what she had to do: she had to bring justice to her family, in whatever form it may be in.  
  
Now the blonde-haired woman stood at the curb of the sun-washed red-brick building; the house could be described as an American castle. She held only a recording device, purse, and overnight bag; the rest of her things littered the area around the front door, having been brought in earlier. Angelica let air circulate through her nose and out of her mouth, her fingers fidgety against the cool plastic of her recorder.  
  
She hesitated for a second, thinking that if she did not speak, she could avoid the inevitability of her entrance into the house. She was, dare say,  _frightened_ of the prospects. --- This was the place were her family had died... it reeked of bad omens.  
  
_Here goes nothing,_ she thought reluctantly.  
  
The recorder beeped three times, signally that it was ready to record when she was. Angelica lifted the microphone to her pale lips. Her steps were casual, slow, light. She spoke in hushed tones, that gradually became stronger, and more emotional.  
  
_"So I haven't exactly been around lately. Why?_  
  
"The news of my cousin and aunt's deaths were devastating, especially after what they had gone through before moving to California. The only more depressing was my uncle's suicide shortly following his family's demise. And they left behind a child...  
  
"Now it's January 12th, 2013."  
  
_She pauses._  
  
_"Let's go back to 2011._  
  
"The Harmon family was never tight knit. I didn't meet my cousin, Violet, until she was twelve, I being twenty, and then only ever saw them at Christmas. I feel like we would have gotten along, and maybe I could have even helped her, but the age difference was too much of a buffer. About two weeks after her mother's death, an officer for the L.A.P.D was digging around the area, investigating a stench under the Harmon's former home. In a crawl space beneath the 'Murder House', my cousin's fly-eaten body was discovered and excavated. Cause of death: overdose on sleeping pills after what seemed to be a long run of depression and self-harm. The time of death was put much before the deaths of my aunt and uncle. It is still unknown why the body was put there and not given a proper burial. They would have begun a deeper investigation, but nothing could be done with the entire family dead.  
  
"I was closest with my uncle, Ben, as he often found comfort in discussing his issues with his older brother, my father. You would think that, as a therapist, my uncle could take care of his own problems. At the end of the day, it is a kind of ironic, albeit cruel twist of fate that he helped so many, but couldn't seek help for himself. His actions in the family's native state of Massachusetts was the main reason for the move from New England to sunny Los Angeles; an affair with a student, Hayden McClaine, now also deceased. More on her, later.  
  
"I was civil with Aunt Vivien. We did not know each other well, and I may or may not have spilled iced tea on her wedding dress as a child, there was always a morsel of tension. The woman died in childbirth about two weeks before her husband's suicide. She agreed to move to Los Angeles with her husband and daughter after a brutal miscarriage and Ben's infidelity.   
  
"The family, as a whole, fled Massachusetts in search of a brand new start. Ben was a therapist and was happy to start fresh with his wife; from something as simple as footage from their old security cameras, we can tell that they needed it.  
  
"At some point during their stay at the infamous 'Murder House', Ben and Vivien discovered that they were pregnant once more; kind of strange due to Vivien's pressing age, but pregnant nonetheless. Eventually, it was revealed that my aunt was going to have twins. Later, she found out that the children not only had two different fathers, but that one of much larger than the other, sucking the life out of the smaller twin.  
  
A rustling sound could be heard by a listener. Angelica picked up one of several white-taped boxes from her porch. She nestled the recorder in between her chin and the moving box labeled **KITCHEN**. Due to the microphone's closeness to her lipglossed mouth, _a listener would hear the speech amplify in volume._  
  
"Sadly, the smaller twin was stillborn, coming out just after his larger, elder brother. The boy is now in the custody of the Harmon's next door neighbor, Constance Langdon, who found the child alone and wailing after his father's suicide. Fishy circumstances, if you ask me. More on the Langdons later.  
  
"I am now at the entrance of the Murder House, ready to move in. Boxes everywhere, keys in my hand. Here goes."   
  
_There is an audible click of a key and the creak of the large wooden door. Keys are clattered in a container._  
  
_"It's a cool place. Home sweet home."_  
  
_She pauses for a moment. Footsteps patter around. A breath._  
  
_"Remember, this is your very own Miss Angelica Harmon at the infamous Murder House for_ **Killer Investigation**  and I am here to find out what really happened to my family."


	2. Interior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casing the inside of the home

Reporter Angelica Harmon took in a gulp of air as she began piddling around the 1920s chateau. Her lengthy fingers flicked off her current recording.

The realtor, a stout woman, middle aged entered from the kitchen. Her stubby hands, neon blazer, and faux cheerfulness gave Angelica a sickening feeling. "I did not even hear a knock!"

The younger woman smiled, though tip-lipped and a bit annoyed at the attitude of the other. "You gave me the directions to the spare key when we talked over the phone, ma'am. Just in case you wouldn't be here..."

"Oh, of course I did! Sorry, lots on my mind after visiting this house."

"Yeah, don't I understand it..." The new homeowner's face somewhat drooped, but the realtor and herself had already discussed the murders and deaths and dark history of the home, leaving nothing under the rug. "Thank you for checking with me. I have your number just in case, right?" 

Marcy nodded her strawberry blonde haired head, extending her hand out to the newest 'victim' of the Murder House's wrath, "Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Harmon. I hope you find what you are looking for." Angelica took the outstretched hand graciously, with a smile. Mere seconds after Marcy pulled away, Angelica would swear to the sky that Marcy had said, "Good luck. You'll need it."

Angelica brushed off the thought.  _I don't need the luck of an old hag_. Then she mentally scolded herself. _This is the fourth time that Marcy has sold the house. She of all people would know what lies behind the walls._

The front door opened and closed as Marcy departed the building. A portion of Angelica was glad, but the woman realized that she was now all alone with only the secrets and memories of the home's past.

The blonde woman brushed her overnight bag down her thin arm and onto the entryway floor. Resituating her vocal recorder in her left hand, Angelica cleared her saliva-coated throat and pressed record.

_"This place has been referred to as a 'classic Los Angeles Victorian'. From the looks of it, that description is probably accurate. I am definitely not one of those geniuses from HGTV or whatever, so do not quote me on it." She laughs, it seems nervous. "The first homeowner was Dr. Charles Montgomery, again will totally talk about later... um, he built the home to impress his wife in 1922, but after what he was up to... I really doubt that just a house would have fixed their relationship. For now, just know that he was a modern day--- scratch that, a 1920s Frankenstein._

_"So we have the front of the home and the entrance. I've seen some ancient photos of the home and it has always looked this way, minus bright red brick color, which I assume has just worn away with time. There are a ridiculous amount of windows--- worthy of being referred to as a shit ton--- but that will be useful if there is ever a fire, I suppose. Once inside there is a study on one side, a staircase to the other._

_"Upstairs is all of the bedrooms and bathrooms, so I'll cover that once I feel like making the trek up these massive stairs..._

_"The study is a ridiculous size, but I can see why Uncle Ben would have wanted to use it. There are still family pictures..."_ The eyes of a school photograph of Violet bore into the side of Angelica's skull. There is the creaking of a door and footsteps. _Audible to a listener, but it appears as though Angelica took no notice._ She moves across the hall to the kitchen with a light patter.

_"This will probably be where I eat most of the time. Maybe I could be persuaded to learn how to cook... This kitchen is super spacey, but totally built to hold the food for a huge family or someone that likes to have gatherings and stuff. Orrrrr someone who actually has friends. Whelp." Her lips smack together at the last letter. "If you know me in real life, you have my number or whatever. After my investigation, I would be up for some roomies." Footfalls bring her out of the kitchen and into the dining room._

_"Yay for the dining room. This baby seats, oh, maybe ten or more people? Large stain glass windows and only one ugly yellow light fixture."_ She begins to exit. _"Getting rid of that for sure." she adds in a quieter tone of voice._

_"Like everything else in the house, the living room is too big for just me. There's a big mirror over the fireplace, which is equally as huge. Might get rid of it to be honest..." Her words teeter off as a door slams, this time a stutter in her voice afterwards. A listener would know that she heard the sound. "Gonna... gonna add a television, too."_

She starts walking out of the kitchen, heading towards the outside.

_"Lastly is the backyard. Hearsay is that if a resident's body is not found in or around the house, it is probably buried back here. Damn creepy if you ask me. During his stay in the house, my uncle hand built a wooden gazebo. It's cute, but if I am here for a while, it's going to get painted for sure. There are wilting flower gardens, but I don't exactly have time to mess with them. Maybe it'll rain soon!"_ She's trying awfully hard to be enthusiastic, but how can you when you're standing in a place where your dead family used to eat lunch and watch the sunset?

_"Anyway, expect to hear from me again really soon. This house has more history than your overpriced textbooks ever thought about having. Angie H. signing off."_

Angelica could finally breathe correctly. _Why did I come here?_  was something she asked herself. Just the idea of delving into the Murder House's past was sickening, especially with the public information that she already knew. God. With her feet and mind weary, it took a moment or so to hear the knocking on the front door, followed by two buzzes on the ringer.

Her body quickly rose up from a lean against the gazebo. Angelica let out a yell that came out more like a screech. "Sorry, I'm coming!" Her small feet created heavy and ringing thuds against the refurbished linoleum flooring.

As dangerous as it is to just whip the door open in a less than safe area of Los Angeles, Angelica did exactly that. The reporter put on a cheerful mien and smiled kindly at the older woman in front of her. Before Angelica could let out a word, the red-haired, grandmotherly old lady spoke.

"Hello, dear, I'm Moira O'Hara, the maid."


	3. The Maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of the unhired help

"You must be mistaken. " The young, blonde-haired woman had absolutely no recollection of hiring a maid.  
  
The so-called 'maid' cocked her head to the side. "Oh, no, dear. I come with the house. My fees are low and I've worked for several owners. I have perfect recommendations."  
  
Angelica shook her head, loosening the messy bun atop it, "Ma'am, it is just me living here..." she paused for a millisecond, scramming for the correct--- no, kindest way of putting her concerns, "I'll only be using about three of the rooms full-time---"  
  
The older woman took steps into the home, an act that drove Angelica off of the figurative rail. Moira blinked her eyes, one of which was a glazed, discolored sky-blue, rapidly and swiftly interjected, "I won't be bugging you and I will certainly take days off---"  
  
"Do you have papers regarding your employment at this establishment? No offense, Ms. O'Hara, but I do have an issue with strangers barging into my home." Angelica's tone turned stern, concerned, mulling over the possibility that this woman was senile, insane, escaped from an asylum or old folk's home; in the younger woman's mind, there were thousands of dreadful scenarios in which the red-haired 'maid' was out to scam or even murder Angelica.  
  
The papers were presented with a quick hand and extended across to Angelica. "You'll find references from former employers."  
  
Angelica practically ripped the papers to shreds when ripping them from Moira's bony fingers. Everything is there... dates and the familiar names of the former Murder House residents, dating back to the mid-1980s. Her bright eyes flitted to the bottom of the page, to the most recent name listed.  
  
Ben Harmon, owner of the Montgomery Mansion, circa. 2010-11. " _Excellent service. Great meals and always attentive to the family. Good with kids._ "  
  
As half-assed as the message was, it only took a look at the date, a few days before Ben's suicide, to choke up Angelica. She shoved the papers back at Moira, crumpling them up in the process.  
  
"You're hired. Start tomorrow, yeah?" Angelica tried to smile at the elder woman, but it did not exactly work that way. The red-headed woman only nodded and exited the home through a still-opened front-door. She had noticed the change in Angelica's personality at the sight of her dead uncle's name.  
  
The door swung shut behind the maid, leaving a thud that sounded through the home. For a split second, Angelica thought that the pane of colored glass on the door would simply shatter--- she hoped it would, she hoped it would, if only to give herself a distraction.  
  
No such luck for the woman. Her body, stricken by gut-wrenching sobs fell into a puddle on the waxed, wooden floors of the Murder House. Heavens, if only Angelica could have seen her uncle standing behind Moira the entire time. Ben's stoic, five-o'clock-shadowed face had faltered at the sight of his niece's tears. He did not know what to do with the crying woman, but he could only hope that the girl felt his presence. He would have made himself known, many of the house's residents would have, had Angelica not brought such a striking attitude to the old home. With Angelica Harmon came a shining ray of hope for the fallen homeowners--- they did not have to speak or appear to her to understand that her intentions were only of the best kind... They all understood, while her basic reason for buying the house was to discover the fates of her family, that this girl would unlock secrets inside of the house that only Charles Montgomery could have told you. Angelica would not only be bringing justice to her own---  
  
She would bring justice to them all.  
  


* * *

  
Ramen noodles fresh out of the microwave, Angelica wiped the remaining mascara stains off of her now-blushless cheeks. Deciding to add some sound to the empty mansion, the blonde pulled the recorder out of her purse, switching it on and standing it up in front of her red china bowl. She took a deep breath, then let it all out on her chicken soup.  
  
Her nail, blue paint cracked and already bitten to nubs, reached out and pressed the 'record' button.  
  
" _So enters the creepy housekeeper." Her voice is still crackly, but any listener would assume that it was due to an oncoming cold. "This woman's name is Moira and she has apparently been working here since the 1980s. Totally not weird that a_ Moira O'Hara _vanished from the location in May of 1983, when she was the maid for one Constance Langdon--- who seems to be_ constantly popping up in the conversation." She gives a welcome giggle.  
  
" _ANYWAY, the age mostly seems to add up and all of her recommendations are from former residents of the Murder House, but all of those people are either dead or missing. My Uncle Ben even gave a reference, but then he_ died _. Online reports say that a 30-some Moira O'Hara went missing in '83 and that there was never any sign of her again. Maybe the online stuff is wrong? Maybe--- I don't know what is up that lady, but I'll be totally keeping tabs on her. Visit to L.A.P.D. tomorrow morning? We will see._ "


	4. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghostly smokes

Shower done, teeth, hair, clothes, done--- Angelica slid into her silk sheets with her laptop, files open. She was about to upload the first three recordings of her adventure when she heard a knock on the door.  
  
She freezes still in her her bedspread.   
  
 _Am I about to die?_  
  
When the thought enters her head, Angelica can not help but be concerned at the involuntary mental cry.  
  
 _You're going to die here._  
  
This time, she swears that a child's voice is speaking, and it did not sound like an interbrain creation.  
  
Flicking her fingers across the worn keyboard, the young Harmon pulls up the three vocal diaries on her laptop before shutting and setting the metal aside. She needed to get out of this room. Cover ripped off, house shoes slipped on, Angelica heard another knock, this time more rapid than previous.  
  
Angelica's quick walk turns into a sprint as the knocking and banging becomes incessant. "I'm coming!" Her voice sprung off and between the walls and rang out inside of the old mansion. She took the stairs two and three at a time.  
  
At the entrance of her home, it is obvious that there is no one there, just by looking through the stained glass window. Regardless, Angelica opened the door too see if it was a ding-dong ditcher, if someone had run off.  
  
Nothing.  
  
It was about 11 o'clock, and she needed her rest--- she was going to explore some libraries and attempt to access some records in the morning.  
  
With no one around, her frame ventured up the driveway of her home, loving the twinkling lights above her suburban neighborhood. She sits Indian-style in the third panel of concrete--- it's close enough to the road to feel the rush of air as a vehicle moves fast, but just far enough that nothing will fly out from under one and hit you.  
  
It is several minutes before footsteps clatter behind her, seemingly appearing out of thin air.  
  
A man--- no, a  ** _boy's_** voice sounded out from behind her place on the curb. "Need a cigarette?" Angelica's messily thrown up hairdo nearly came undone when she whipped around to see the male. He was just a few inches taller than her, a cigarette carton and lighter nestled into his jean pocket.  
  
"Was that you making the noise?" She surveyed his disheveled hair, his lazily dressed person... maybe it was him, maybe not.  
  
His doe eyes grew concerned as his light brows pull together, "I've been on my porch all evening and I didn't see anyone." He's familiar to Angelica is some way, but when he motions to the house adjacent, something clicks and she knows that she is seeing Tate Langdon.  _That Tate Langdon_.  
  
She really needs sleep.  
  
"How do I know it wasn't you?" Angelica queried, reaching out and motioning for the cigarette carton.  
  
The blonde male handed one over, lightly brushing his hand against Angelica's. She pressed the cancer stick between parted and chapped lips as he opened the cigarette lighter. His fingers reached out between them while bent over to reach the light.  
  
She took a drag and coughed wildly--- it had been years. "Uh, thank you..." She looked at him, hoping that the boy would offer up his name.  
  
"It's Tate."  
  
"Cool name, Tate." Her tongue clacked against her teeth, accentuating the 't's in his name.  
  
Many drags/coughing fits later and the pair was still sitting there in silence. Whatever this was, it was weird... a 'dead' person had just given her a real cigarette and she had touched his very real hands, looked into his very real eyes.  
  
"I better head off to sleep." Angelica admitted, pulling herself away from the curb. The whole situation was bugging her out of her wits and sleep would help, she knew. "Nice meeting you, Tate." She began advancing to her home.  
  
"Nice to meet you, too, Angelica."  
  
She had not given him her name.  
  


* * *

  
" _Nice to meet you, Angelica?_ "  
  
Violet's sharp voice bounced off of the bedroom walls.  
  
"She's a nice lady, she should know what is going on here." Tate slouched over in a rocking chair, peering over the cradle at Violet's brother, Jeffrey.  
  
"So you can just kill her, too, right?" Violet ran her hands through her mousy brown hair, ridding it off tangles, but tearing some out in the process. Exasperation riddled her young features.  
  
The male sucked his teeth. "Who have I killed, Violet? Really?" Sarcasm dripped off of his words. "You know I'm kidding, right, Vi? I wouldn't kill Angelica---"  
  
Her hands flew up into the air, nearly whacking herself in the face. "I thought you wouldn't kill my dad, either, but that's what happened---"  
  
"So I have problems sometimes, I get that. That's why we have a forever therapist in our home!"  
  
"You have problems absolutely always, Tate! You raped my mom, or did you forget that? Your demon child is why she's dead. Mom and Dad could have gone on without me, but you had to ruin that. Now you're going to ruin our chance at having the world know about what really goes down out here. Thank you, Tate." Violet fled the room without another word.  
  
" _ARGH!_ " The lone male cried out a terrible noise of anguish as he unconsciously stood up and punched the red walls.  
  
"Goddammit, Tate, we just repainted!" Chad seemed to have been summoned by the fit of anger, leaving Tate to vanish from the baby's room as well. The black-haired man repeated, "Goddamn."


	5. Breakfast

Breath heavy, Angelica forced herself to rise the next morning. It had felt like a horrible night of sleep, the memories of what happened the night before flooded back to her in a dream-like haze. She pulled her laptop up from her beside table... a minute later she sees that she definitely uploaded the recordings.  _Okay, weird._  She thought, but she knew that an apparition of a mass murderer was not a plausible reason for the cigarette she had smoked during the night. She raised her thin fingers to her nose and sniffed. They were smoky, horrible.  
  
"Lord." She spoke aloud, pushing her blue duvet to the side and sliding off of her bed. Angelica's slippers had been strewn off without order, and she could easily see a thin layer of dirt on their soles. She shook it off--- she decided to agree that the whole affair was a mixture of a sleepwalking, dream state trance. It was the only explanation that placed her outside of her home and side by side with Tate Langdon. There was no other explanation for him knowing her name. She still had one issue though...  
  
She had never in her life owned a carton of cigarettes.  
  
 _I'm just tired._ She concluded quickly.  
  
Her feet fell heavily down the magnificent staircase, stopping periodically to check her text messgaes, to scrill down Facebook. Angelica's frame seemed small and out of place when compared to the Montgomery Mansion's elicit grandeur. It nearly scared her, thinking back.  
  
Once downstairs, Angelica heard the quiet shuffling and rustling of pots and pans in the kitchen.  
  
 _Why would an intruder be digging in my kitchen?_  She thought wildly. Then she smelled bacon.  
  
Moira must have heard footsteps outside of the kitchen's entrance, because her voice instantly rose above the clattering, "Ms. Harmon, I'm just preparing your breakfast! Come in. Please."  
  
Angelica took halting steps into the marbled and metalled room where her maid prepped her meal. "You didn't need to come by so early." Angelica's voice sounded gruff and burly from sleep. "It's only 8:30." She said after looking to the oven's clock.  
  
"Oh, dear, on many days, you'll find that I arrive much earlier. I don't live too far away." Moira looked from a carton of eggs and smiled gently to the younger woman. "Sit, and tell me about yourself."  
  
Angelica took the demand--- it is too early for her to question it. "I'm a writer."  
  
"Oh, I've never worked for a writer before." The red-haired woman took a whisk from the hand level drawers.  
  
Angelica chuckled, the feeling was strange in the base of her throat. "I can assure you that we are not much different than anybody else."  
  
"I have the feeling that you are, Ms. Harmon." The maid's tone was slightly ominous, but it is not noted until later in the day. Moira's veiny fingers extend to Angelica, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon within them.  
  


* * *

  
 _"So day one is a go."_ Angelica's voice in the recorder is much more lively than it was the day before; after exiting the Murder House, she had felt her cheeks grow warm and her body regain a cheerful composure. The house was affecting the young woman, she was just not aware of it yet.


End file.
